


Whenever You Go (I'll Wait for You)

by Temporaryism



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CoS spoilers, Drunk Sex, Ed Swears, I'm Sorry, M/M, No Underage Sex, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Restored Alphonse Elric, Roy POV, So much angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spoilers, because i don't have friends, for all the things, if ao3 adds the freeform tag for all this i swear im gonna murder something, is this enough tags i never know what to put here, like at all, the archive tag is just for like one scene, where roy appreciates an underage ed getting prettier by the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporaryism/pseuds/Temporaryism
Summary: Roy Mustang does not have a soulmate.Roughly forty-seven percent of the population is born without the words of their soulmate tattooed on their skin. Ninety-two percent receive their soulmark by the age of five. At age eighteen, if you still do not have your soulmate's words, you are part of a sliver of the world so small that some people do not realize your existence is even possible, and the likelihood you will ever receive a soulmark is almost nonexistent.Roy had given up on the promise of a soulmate by the age of sixteen, and he had never looked back.





	1. The Facts

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm like, what, 15 years late to this game? Ha. Anyway, watch out for breakneck posting speeds; this fic is already complete. I just have to code and post it. So. 
> 
> Anyway, this pairing really doesn't need another soulmate AU, but this is what I've got. Enjoy!

Roy does not have a soulmate.

Water is wet, the sky is blue, flames are hot, and Roy Mustang does not have a soulmate.

_But are you sure_? the black ink shaped into the elegant loops of Roy's own handwriting taunts. The contrast of it against sand-colored skin is both mesmerizing and slightly sickening. Roy wants to remove his gloves and reach out, trace his longest fingers over the words to see whether he could feel the difference between them and the patch of skin they dance over, but he can't. He's frozen. Distantly—and quite hysterically—he thinks, _if I snapped my fingers now_ , _I would produce nothing_. _It's too cold_.

Roy doesn't even notice the silence rushing over his ears and drowning out everything else until it ends abruptly, noise filtering in quickly and far too loudly.

"Sir." A hand brushes Roy's shoulder, and he barely suppresses a flinch. "Sir," Riza repeats, voice harsher and more urgent than before.

And yet Roy cannot look away. The sight is too terrifying. If he blinks, he doesn't know what might happen. He tries not to think the worst possibility is that the words might disappear.

* * *

Roughly forty-seven percent of the population is born without the words of their soulmate tattooed on their skin. Ninety-two percent receive their soulmark by the age of five. At age eighteen, if you still do not have your soulmate's words, you are part of a sliver of the world so small that some people do not realize your existence is even possible, and the likelihood you will ever receive a soulmark is almost nonexistent.

Roy had given up on the promise of a soulmate by the age of sixteen, and he had never looked back.

* * *

"Sir." Riza salutes stiffly, her eyes respectably averted to a spot on the wall somewhere over Roy's left shoulder.

"Close the door, Colonel."

Riza breaks her stance and does as Roy commands. She takes only as many steps as necessary to turn and grasp the door handle, and Roy reads her worry for him in the lines of her precise movements. Maes had always been the opposite; when Roy needed it, Maes became more ridiculous, took up more space, spoke louder. Riza instead fits herself into the neatest lines and never breaks form. Roy is never sure what these kinds of gestures are supposed to mean, but he is comforted by their familiarity all the same.

And yet, as he thinks about what he has to ask for, his stomach churns unpleasantly. He can't seem to breathe just the right way. There's never quite enough air in his lungs. He wonders if this is what dying feels like.

After the door is closed and they are left alone, shut off from the outside world, Roy looks at Riza's straight back and flinty eyes and wilts a little. As much as he has always needed Riza's strength, right now he needs something else. And he isn't quite sure how to ask.

"What is it, sir?"

Roy looks down at his desk. There's a report in front center, and it's open to one of the middle pages, but Roy doesn't recognize it.

His hands clench, and the unfinished edges of the wood on the underside of Roy's desk bite into the skin of his palms. "Is there an update on the Elrics' conditions?"

Thankfully, his voice doesn't shake. Or at least he thinks it doesn't. 

"Well, Al is fine," Riza starts. It's a weak opening, but Roy lets it slide. Riza only hedges for his sake anyway. When she speaks again, her voice takes on a softer quality. "Ed is awake."

Roy swallows, but his throat sticks, and he has to cough to clear it. "Has he—" His throat constricts, betraying him. He swallows again. "Does he know?"

"Sir?"

Riza's question stokes the flames in Roy's chest, and he has to grit his teeth to keep the fire from shooting out of his mouth. How can she not understand?

"Does he know that I—" Roy meets Riza's gaze briefly, but he cannot hold it. Not because it is too harsh or critical, but because they reflect his sadness mixed together with her pity. "—saw," he finishes. He dares not repeat himself.

There's a rustle of fabric that belies some small movement. "I'm not sure, sir."

Roy tips his head down slightly. "I have to ask you something," Roy dares. "I wouldn't—"

"It's no trouble, sir," Riza says—quite brazenly, given she can hardly guess what Roy is about to say. But then there probably isn't much Riza wouldn't do for Roy. That is just the kind of person she is.

"I need you to—to," Roy takes in a shaky breath and exhales slowly through his nose, "check me," he finishes vaguely.

"Now, sir?" This is the only part of the request Riza seems to find objectionable. Given that the time and setting is Roy's office at Central Headquarters in the early afternoon, it wasn't entirely an unreasonable objection, but all the same, he expected more pushback than this.

"I—no. Tonight. Please."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

When Roy had helped Alphonse stow aboard the ship headed back through the gate, he did it because he knew he would never see Edward Elric again and because he wanted to give Edward something that Edward would truly need. Roy had viewed the whole thing as something of a sacrifice. He wouldn't have Ed, and he wouldn't have anyone that reminded him of Ed, either. In exchange, he would fully pull himself out of exile and continue his upward push through the ranks of the military. He had thought Edward would have appreciated the equivalency.

Edward wasn't supposed to come back. Roy couldn't help but think that the words scrawled over Edwards ribs were his punishment for getting what he really wanted.

* * *

Seeing Edward fight is like watching a dance where only one partner knows what is going to happen next but is skilled enough to make the whole piece look exquisite. The only exception is Alphonse, who flits around his brother with ease as they fight side-by-side. Alphonse ducks and kicks out his leg just as Edward jumps and flings himself at his opponent. His ponytail flicks through the space where Alphonse's head had been only a moment ago. Roy tries not to be arrested by the sight, though he immediately forgives himself for getting distracted, even when he has to stumble out of the way of a rather ridiculous-looking mace; it truly has been too long since he last saw Edward move like this.

Roy recovers and snaps quickly, efficiently. He can't forgive himself a second time, especially if he dies like this, too engrossed in watching Edward to fight for his own life. The man who rushed Roy screams as his clothes catch fire. Roy trips the man, which serves to both further incapacitate and help douse the flames before they do too much damage.

"Heads up!" is all the warning Roy gets before two hands—one forgiving and one not—plant themselves on Roy's shoulders while he is still crouched on a bent knee. Roy locks himself into place and feels, just for a fleeting moment, all of Edward's weight being supported by his shoulders as Edward launches himself up and over Roy's head.

The thud of a body hitting the cobblestones signals to Roy that he is safe to move, and he pulls himself up and around to see Edward already moving onto his next target. The attacker Roy had failed to notice is on the ground groaning and holding his stomach. Roy shakes his head, dazed, and pushes himself back into the foray. Edward and Alphonse are once more dancing around each other, holding off far more enemies than should be possible. Roy hesitates for a moment, hand raised. He could snap his fingers and take down an entire swath of these men, except that Edward, despite his alchemic prowess, has a rather hands-on approach to combat, and one wrong move could singe the ends of Edward's snapping, yellow hair or burn the skin where Edward had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Roy snarls quietly to himself and watches every twist of Edward's body, waiting for an opening. But before Roy can find an opportunity, a threat descends in the form of a hulking, bitter-looking man whose eyes are set on Edward. Alphonse is preoccupied with his own opponents, and Edward is similarly distracted. If Roy could just be precise enough, he could—

The crack of Roy's snapping fingers is a deafening sound followed by a rush of heat that barely licks his fingers. The flames go exactly where he wants them to, but Edward, having at last sensed the oncoming threat, twists at the last moment and unknowingly places himself between the fire and Roy's target.

"No," Roy begs. His voice is hoarse.

Edward screams in agony, and immediately Roy activates the array he wears to suck the oxygen out of the air around them. He can't do it right, not in the open like this, but it's enough. The flames die quickly, but Edward is already sprawled on the ground. He looks to be unconscious.

Roy wants to rush in and get his hands on Edward, but he doesn't hesitate. He snaps his fingers again, the path to his target finally clear.

* * *

"Perhaps—" Riza starts. She doesn't finish. Her cheeks turn tellingly red.

Roy shakes his head. "It isn't there, I'm sure."

"But, sir—" Riza cuts herself off when Roy raises a hand to stop her, but her silence doesn't last long. "Sir, you wanted me to check everywhere. I've looked everywhere else. It's the last place we haven't looked."

"I have mirrors, Riza." Roy isn't quite willing to take his shame that far. "And if it isn't anywhere else, I highly doubt it is hiding beneath my underclothes."

Riza purses her lips. "This is Edward Elric we're talking about."

Roy reaches for his slacks and stuffs one leg in hurriedly before he remembers that he's trying to maintain his dignity through all of this. "I don't know what you mean by that," he says, though he's afraid he might be lying.

"I wouldn't put it past the boy to mark his soulmate somewhere completely inappropriate.”

Roy clears his throat and continues to button himself into his uniform. "I—soulmate dysfunction is not unheard of," Roy says. The words sound hollow even to his own ears.

"It's rare, sir," Riza says. Her voice is plain and flat. It's the tone she takes when she thinks Roy is being ridiculous, but he isn't. He's not wrong about this. He was just foolish enough to let himself hope for a few hours, and now he is facing the facts. The things he has known for his entire adult life are still true.

Roy pulls on his undershirt and tucks it into his trousers. The silence in the room is awkward, largely because Riza is pushing for a response and Roy is refusing her. When Roy is more or less entirely dressed again, he finally faces her. His face is schooled, and he even finds it within himself to smile a little.

"Do you know," Roy begins lightly, "I don't even remember the first words he said to me. I have no idea what my mark would say if I had one."

The corners of Riza's mouth turn down. Roy sees the sorrow for him in her eyes. It doesn't strike like a lance through his heart. There are far more hurtful things than being pitied by an officer he commands.

"You recognized your words on him, though," she defends.

Roy smiles more widely. "So did you."

* * *

"General! I was wondering when I would see you here."

Roy's hand rests on the door handle. Through the small window, he can see the back of Ed's head. Ed's hair is down, spilling softly over his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking. Roy fears for a second that Ed is crying, but no, those are Al's hands flailing around on the other side of the bed. He's laughing.

With a deep breath, Roy releases his hold on the handle. He finds himself face to face with a man who must be Edward's physician. Roy has no other explanation for this person he's never seen or met before. "Is that so?"

"Well, yes. I imagine most everyone wants to catch sight of the famous Fullmetal alchemist now that he has returned, not least of all his former commanding officer. The rest of your team has already been by, in fact."

"I see." Roy risks one more glance through the window. Ed and Al remain where they were the last time he looked.

"I have to say, General, I am impressed with your precision."

"Oh?" Roy feels his brow furrowing, an outward reflection of his confusion at this turn in the conversation. The doctor looks all too delighted to elaborate.

"Yes, sir. I don't feel it is inappropriate to tell you that we found not a single burn mark on young Mr. Elric's skin. And as the reports tell it, the flame you had let loose was quite impressive. But not a hair was singed! It's amazing!"

Roy tries to receive the compliment gracefully, but he feels that his smile is likely more of a grimace. Edward's scream still echoes in Roy's ears; it doesn't matter that Roy didn't leave another mark.

"Is he taking visitors?"

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you," the doctor answers unhelpfully. This man clearly is not well acquainted with Edward Elric. Roy smiles all the same and says goodbye with a polite tip of his head.

With one last steadying breath, Roy reaches for the handle again and pushes the door open.

The sound of Edward's laughter is the first thing Roy registers, but the sound is quickly cut off as Edward realizes someone has entered the room. Their eyes meet, and Roy stops in his tracks. Edward blinks. His face is blank.

"General!" Alphonse leaps from his seat at Edward's bedside, and Roy soon finds his hand being pumped in a startlingly firm handshake. "So good to see you. We'll have to catch up sometime!" And then Alphonse is gone, like leaving his brother's sick room was something he had been planning to do before Roy entered it.

When Roy recovers from Alphonse's abrupt departure, he chances a look at Edward. Roy takes note of so many things at once—Edward's tipped head, the hair falling in front of his face like a curtain, nervous fingers picking at the bedclothes. The sight tugs on something in Roy's chest painfully hard. He tries not to think about it. Instead he wonders whether Edward has ever been bashful in his presence before, and if so, how had he ever missed it?

Since Edward clearly isn't going to make the first move here, Roy pushes himself to move forward. He stops just shy of the bed and quickly dismisses the idea of circumventing the contraption in order to take the seat that Alphonse left vacant. That would be too . . . intimate. Despite what Roy knows now, things aren't like that between him and Edward.

"Fullmetal," Roy greets.

"General." Edward's hand is still picking at the blanket. He's going to wear it away at this rate.

"How—how are you?"

Edward's shoulders stiffen and rise up slightly, and Roy winces, instantly regretting not just his apparent inability to maintain his facade of indifference but also coming here and most of his life in general. Before Roy can attempt to backpedal and waive off the question, Edward's shoulders relax, and his entire body takes on that loose sprawl that Roy is much more used to seeing. Edward looks up, finally, and smiles, his eyes closing with the force of it. "Great! The doc says I just knocked myself out, which I know is really your fault, so all things considered, I think it all turned out pretty well!"

"My fault," Roy splutters.

Eyelashes flutter, just slightly, and then Edward is meeting Roy's gaze for the first time. His eyes are sparkling mischievously. It makes Roy's guts tremble a little. "Yeah, if you'd just let me handle that guy I wouldn't even be here. I mean, I know you're eager to solve everything with a snap of your fingers, but I'm more than capable of defending myself. Honestly, if you hadn't even been there, Al and I would probably be on the train to Resembool by now."

Roy grinds his teeth together. He wants to refute every word, though he knows it's true. It's hard to face, though, that he is the reason Edward is injured at all.

"So that's your plan is it, now that you're back?" Roy congratulates himself on his steady voice.

"Yeah," Edward says breezily, relaxing into the pillows. "Winry isn't here to supply me with new automail this time, and Al says I'm crazy, but I swear this prosthetic arm isn't quite as friendly to alchemic changes as automail is. Besides that it's far less durable."

"I see," Roy says. He feels a bit lame not quite knowing what to say. He can't say _don't leave_. He can't say _I missed you_. Edward would punch him if he tried it, especially given the words on his skin and the emptiness of Roy's own. "I am curious," Roy continues, "how you managed to get back here. I destroyed the gate on this side, and Alphonse assured me that the two of you would destroy the gate on the other side."

"Oh," Edward says. He seems to wilt a little, his arms and chin drooping. "Yeah, I suppose you would worry about that; wouldn't want anymore threats to come through from the other side."

"Perhaps you should stop by Central Command," Roy suggests, trying not to think about the way his chest expands with hopefulness at the thought, "before you head out to Resembool. We should debrief you on how you managed to get through and what sort of actions we might need to take."

Edward shrugs. "Yeah, all right."

Roy will take it. He nods once and offers a salute before he can suggest anything else, like an offer for Edward and Alphonse to stay with him if they need it. Gods knew how that would go.

Edward perks up a bit again and salutes in return, though the way he does it gives the distinct impression he's mocking Roy just a little bit. Roy bites back a retort. They're both adults now; there's no reason they can't end a conversation amicably. With all the confidence he can muster, Roy turns on his heel and heads for the door. Not even halfway to the door he's already thinking about how well this has gone, how it's clear Edward doesn't even know what—

"Hey, Mustang," Edward calls.

Roy stops but doesn't turn. He's so close to the door. Just a few more steps—

"Do you—" Edward pauses for a moment, but Roy knows there is more coming. Edward isn't one to back down from anything. "Everyone's acting . . . strange. You wouldn't happen to be able to tell me why?"

Roy turns his head slightly, straining against the urge to look back at Edward's likely open and vulnerable face. Not for the first time, Roy selfishly wishes Ed was a little better at masking his feelings. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

Edward huffs. He sounds frustrated. "That sounds like a lie."

Roy doesn't remember Edward ever being so perceptive before. "I assure you—"

"It's like everyone else is in on some big secret and doesn't want to tell me."

Roy swallows; his hand right hand clinches into a fist. It shouldn't hurt, he tells himself, but _Edward knew_. He knew this whole time and not once did he tell Roy. He never mentioned a thing. They met over a decade ago now, and Edward has known this whole time, and he's never once breathed a word about it to Roy. And maybe that was fine when he was still a child. Roy could forgive Edward for protecting himself when he was young. Roy isn't even sure he would have really wanted to know then. But there had been chances when Edward was older. He could have—he could have said something. He could have stayed here, but he left instead.

"Does that bother you?"

"What?" Edward's voice is bewildered but soft. The quality is not one of indignity but . . . hurt?

"That people are keeping secrets," Roy clarifies. "Does it bother you?"

Roy can hear Edward breathing heavily, like he has to draw in bigger breaths of air to keep himself from exploding his anger and his feelings all over Roy the way he used to when he was younger. Edward doesn't say a thing, though. Roy knows what Edward's answer is, and he is fairly certain Edward knows that he knows. But Roy wonders whether Edward is thinking about the words that mark Edward as his and whether Edward worries that by saying too much he will give away his own secret now. Either way, Edward never answers the question, and Roy leaves.

* * *

Alphonse is the one who gets to Edward first. He is the closest, of course, both physically and metaphorically. Roy busies himself with securing the area and directing soldiers to start processing the attackers who are still alive. Roy doesn't even know where these men came from or what Edward and Alphonse are doing here, in Central, when they should be a world away. All of the light, bubbly feelings that came from seeing Edward again have escaped his chest, and with the fight over, reality sets in. He has to take charge here.

"Sir," Riza calls out. Roy is tempted to ignore her, though it never works. He just doesn't want to face what he's done. He doesn't want to see much he's hurt Edward. He's already gathered that Edward is still alive, but how much damage there is, Roy doesn't want to see. "Sir," Riza calls again.

Roy growls quietly to himself, just once, and then goes where he is summoned.

"You need to look at this," Riza says seriously. Her tone of voice is hushed now that Roy is closer, and Roy doesn't want to contemplate the solemnity. He wants to yell that he doesn't want to look at what he's done. But Roy has faced things far less pleasant than a bit of friendly fire, and Roy already knows that Ed will live—not just because he has to but because Alphonse isn't crying and begging Edward to pull through and because no one is pulling Edward up and hauling him away to be treated immediately. So Roy steps up to face his sins and follows Riza's gesturing with his eye. He expects to see scorch marks or blood, and at first Roy thinks that is exactly what he sees; the black covering Ed's skin looks like a wound from this far away, but then Roy notices it looks more uniform than charred skin from an uncontrolled flame would look.

Roy looks up at Riza, who looks grim, and then over at Alphonse, who looks resigned and perhaps a little guilty. Subconsciously Roy chews on his tongue a little, intrigued. He bends down and rests one arm on his knee and holds himself steady with his other hand on the ground so that he can lean forward without falling over. Closer now, Roy can see that the black markings are actually words, and he realizes what he is looking at.

"Why are you showing me this," Roy asks Riza. He's aware his voice sounds flinty; he hopes it is interpreted as anger on behalf of Edward and the privacy he should be afforded in this matter rather than, well, his more personal feelings on the matter.

"Read it," is all Riza says, and her tone brooks no argument. Roy furrows his brow but does as she says. 

_We went to your house; we saw the floor. What was that? What did you do?_

Roy recoils. He doesn't remember these words, not exactly, but he remembers the day. He remembers the small boy in the wheelchair. He remembers ignoring the full suit of armor hiding behind the small child and descending on the boy instead. He remembers the feeling of Edward's shirt in his hand as he held Edward up and the anger that had engulfed every corner of his body at the thought of the hell this boy had seen so young. He remembers Edward's tears and the way Alphonse pushed him away.

* * *

"Alphonse Elric is here to see you, sir."

Roy stops in the middle of shuffling papers around on his desk. It takes him a second to realize his hand is shaking, and once he does, he drops the folder he's holding onto the desk. He hopes the surprise he's feeling doesn't show on his face. With anyone else, Roy wouldn't worry about his face being an impenetrable mask, but Riza is better at reading him than most.

"Send him in," Roy says. He doesn't bother to wonder why it's Alphonse who is here rather than Edward. He thinks he knows what's coming.

That doesn't stop Roy from jumping a little when Alphonse strides right up to Roy's desk and slams his palms down. Roy swallows down all of his nervousness and the mess in his head and faces Alphonse's gaze head on.

"You have," Alphonse says emphatically, "to tell him."

Roy doesn't let a single muscle in his face twitch. "Tell him what?" It's no use asking who the _he_ is that they are referring to. Who else would it be?

"You know what," Alphonse says. He's not backing down. Roy wonders how long it's been since Alphonse lost all of his fear of Brigadier General Mustang. Roy thinks it's probably about the same time Alphonse figured out Roy is in love with his brother. _In love_. That, of all things, makes Roy's throat go dry, forcing him to swallow.

"I'm not the one keeping secrets," Roy says, the last word coming out with a little more of a hiss than he intends.

"Like hell you aren't," Alphonse counters. "This is your responsibility. You have to fix it."

Roy bites his cheek. Again he thinks, _I'm not the one_ , but it's no use. Edward may be the one keeping secrets, but Roy is older, higher ranking. And Edward might be the one who has the mark, but Roy is the one who has been yearning to reach out and touch and claim. People think not having a soulmark means you're free from being attached to one person; people think soulmate dysfunction means the person who wears the mark is eternally in love and the one without a mark can't return those feelings, but Roy is the one who branded Edward with his devotion and his want. To Edward, those words are a reminder of his worst mistake; to Roy, they are a reminder of the day he met the only person he would ever love this deeply.

"He doesn't want me to know," Roy says. It is the real crux of the matter. It doesn't matter that Roy doesn't have a matching soulmark for Edward. If it were just that, Roy could overcome it. He could give Edward proof enough of his heart that Roy wouldn't need a soulmark. But the fact is that Edward doesn't want Roy, period. If he did, Roy would have found his words years ago.

"You're both idiots," Alphonse spits.


	2. The Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Al said I should come talk to you," Edward says. 
> 
> Roy swallows. He should have guessed.
> 
> "Are you drunk?" 
> 
> Roy isn't dumb enough to hope Edward missed the opened bottle of cognac. "Perhaps a little."
> 
> Edward's hands are on his hips. It's an unusual place for them; usually they hang at his sides or are raised in preparation for a fight. Roy doesn't think he likes Edward's hands being there. They look . . . nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. When I sat down to write this chapter, it wasn't meant to go the way it did—aka full-on porn. BUT that's what happened. If you're into it, this chapter is for you! If not, I will say that while nothing of significance is said, per se, this chapter is kind of crucial to the development of the plot, so feel free to skip it, but be warned you may or may not be a little lost in the last couple of chapters. I did try to insert a little exposition into chapter three that might be helpful, and you can gain some context by reading a little of the beginning of this chapter as well as the very small chunk at the end of this chapter, which are not smutty at all, if that helps. If you're still confused after or in the midst of chapter three, come to [my tumblr ask box](http://myloveasrare.tumblr.com/ask) off anon for non-porny details of what goes down. 
> 
> ANYWAYYYYY~~happy chapter, lovelies :)

Roy isn't prone to drink. He'll join his men or his superiors at a bar when it's fitting and let loose just enough to keep up or give his counterparts the idea that they have the upper hand. When Roy finds a woman willing to forget the promise of forever for a night or two with him, he'll pull out deep red wine and finish the bottle with her—given she's not in his bed before then.

But drinking alone and feeling maudlin about his life is not an activity Roy often or even rarely partakes in. He prefers to throw himself bodily into his work and pushing to the top. It worked after Ishval, and it worked when Edward left for that strange other world beyond the gate. But now Edward is here, and being in Roy's office only prompts daydreams of Edward bursting through the door and dropping on Roy's couch like he used to do. It doesn't matter that Edward has never been in Roy's new office. It's a fantasy he's had several times, over many years, and in nearly every office he's occupied. The sad part is that in his daydreams, it rarely ever leads to anything. He just wants Edward to be there and have the pleasure of listening to Edward's voice. And now that this very possibility is almost within his grasp, Roy can't face it.

So he buys a bottle of cognac on his way home, and when he gets inside and kicks off his boots, he doesn't bother to grab a glass from his kitchen. He sets the bottle down on the dark wood surface of the coffee table and sheds first his coat, and then his uniform jacket. As he lowers himself into his favorite chair, he unbuttons the top three of his white shirt and releases a sigh. After holding himself up straight and tight all day, it's a relief to melt into the cool leather of the chair and sprawl his limbs in every direction.

Roy thinks of what Edward might say if he saw Roy like this. It would be something snarky, no doubt, but his eyes would have a glimmer of the laugh he wouldn't voice. Edward's voice would take on that attractive lower timber and lighter quality it had whenever he was teasing. Roy grabs the bottle of alcohol and cracks it open. Sinking into the chair once again, Roy takes a long pull and tips his head back.

* * *

Roy has had a couple of glasses' worth of cognac and is feeling pleasantly droopy when there's a knock at his door. He considers, at first, ignoring it. He's quite sure it's Riza, coming by to impart more cutting words of wisdom on the matter of his soulmate. Or his lack of one, rather. And really Roy is quite tired of the whole subject and would much rather let it go at this point. Better had he never seen those words at all and thought he was entirely soulmateless than to know Edward was almost his but not really. Not in any way that mattered.

But the second, more insistent knock, when it inevitably comes, pulls Roy even further out of his pleasant, alcohol-induced, humming stupor, and all he can think is that if Riza doesn't break down his door tonight, he is sure to face even worse tomorrow.

With a grimace and a bit of a grunt that Roy would never acknowledge, Roy pushes himself up and takes few stumbling steps forward. He pauses for a moment to close his eye and press his hand over it. The deprivation of all his sight grounds him a little bit and allows him to collect himself so that he doesn't look like a total wretch as he opens the door.

Roy blinks and then blinks again. He considers rubbing his eye to see whether that replaces the image in front of him with one that makes sense, but then Roy decides against that because Roy is drunk but not that drunk.

Somehow, Roy expected that when he saw Edward again, Edward would be wearing clothes more like he used to and not . . . this. This makes Roy think of Edward coming down out of the sky like he was heaven sent to save them from the monsters that came through the gate. This makes him think of snapping hair and hands on his shoulders, of a scream that cut to the bone. This makes Edward look touchable and yet still off-limits all at once. This makes him think of harsh words that were once spoken to a child too young to understand what they really meant being branded on skin forever.

"Fullmetal," Roy says when he finally finds his voice. It's not smooth, by any means. The title comes out roughly and a bit broken.

"General," Edward returns. For a man who essentially ran away from the military by moving to another world and is now facing his former CO who also happens to be his soulmate, Edward looks rather at ease. Roy wonders if maybe Edward doesn't remember Roy saying those words on his body, but no, Alphonse knows, and if Alphonse knows, then Edward knows. And besides that, who forgets a moment like that? Roy certainly hasn't, even if he hadn't known what it really was at the time.

"Are you going to invite me in, or do we have to have this conversation on your porch so that all your nosy neighbors can snoop in?"

Roy grimaces and then steps to the side, allowing passage. Really he should have walked into the house and left the entryway open, but he doesn't realize his mistake until Edward is angling his body to brush through the gap and grazing the fingers of his left hand against Roy's hip in some sort of silent thanks or torture—Roy isn't sure which. Maybe both.

Recovering, Roy closes the door and turns to watch Edward take in the room. He's not sure how Edward found out where he lives, but he's not going to insult Edward's intelligence by asking about it.

Helplessly, Roy follows the line of Edward's long ponytail down to Edward's back, and his eye traces the outline of the waistcoat that frames Edward's torso. He doesn't allow himself to look further down.

Edward twists his upper body around, soon followed by the rest of him. They are facing each other and seemingly doing nothing other than cataloging details. Roy is afraid of what Edward is noticing; his expression is far too calculating.

"Al said I should come talk to you," Edward says.

Roy swallows. He should have guessed.

"Are you drunk?"

Roy isn't dumb enough to hope Edward missed the opened bottle of cognac. "Perhaps a little."

Edward's hands are on his hips. It's an unusual place for them; usually they hang at his sides or are raised in preparation for a fight. Roy doesn't think he likes Edward's hands being there. They look . . . nice. His waist looks nice bracketed by them, exposed as they are—both the prosthetic and the real one—with his white button-up rolled up at the sleeves. Roy isn't sober enough for this.

"Al says you have to tell me what everyone's problem is," Edward pushes. He sounds angry, but in a simmering sort of way. He isn't yelling; he's biding his time.

Roy doesn't say what he really thinks, which is that Alphonse should keep his mouth shut, but it's a near thing. He congratulates himself for still having a filter. Surely tact will be useful here.

Edward takes a step forward. Roy tries to focus on the feeling of trepidation in the pit of his stomach, but mostly he's entranced by the way Edward's hips sway the tiniest bit as he walks slowly like that. "I honestly," Roy tries, "am not sure what either you or Alphonse expect me to say."

"No?" Edward takes another step forward. Roy should retreat, but there's not much space behind him anyway, and who cares if he keeps his distance anymore? Hasn't he done that enough already?

"Haven't the faintest clue," Roy says. He pulls his gaze away from Edward's hands and waist long enough to take stock of the look in Edward's eyes—it's triumphant. Where has all of that anger from a moment ago gone? Shouldn't Edward's blood be boiling? Shouldn't Roy's refusal to play along just rile him up?

But Edward isn't looking like he's about to start yelling and frantically waving any limbs. He looks like a lion that's singled out its prey and is getting ready to pounce. Edward takes another step forward, and starting to feel like a target, Roy takes a half step back.

"Hmm," Edward says, considering.

"What?"

Edward's eyes flick downward quickly and up again before Roy can hazard a guess about what Edward was looking at. "interesting," is all Edward says.

"What?" Is that Roy's voice? It sounds so unsteady.

"Tell me," Ed says, "what changed while I was gone."

Roy backs up again, and already he feels the front door against his back. He's not pushed right up against it, but he's very close. "Nothing changed while you were gone," Roy answers. It's not a lie.

"Absolutely nothing at all, huh?"

Roy shakes his head. Edward doesn't look like he believes it. But Edward doesn't ask any more questions. His arms drop from their perch on his hips, and one hand, the right one, reaches out and fists itself in Roy's shirt. Roy gasps quietly, too out of sorts to stop it. Similarly he is too weak to stop himself from being pulled downward until his gaze is even with Edward's. "That's a shame," Edward says. It makes no sense, really, but Roy doesn't get time to question it. Edward's lips push into his fast and hard, and it ignites Roy from inside like a spark.

Roy reaches out and wraps one hand around Edward's neck where it meets the base of his skull. His fingers slip into the fine hairs there while his other arm slips around Edward's teasing waist so that Roy can pull Edward in until their chests are flush against each other. Edward follows Roy's guidance easily and even pushes forward a half step more so that Roy's back is slammed into the door. The impact barely breaks them apart, and Edward uses the opportunity to readjust the kiss and attack from another angle. Roy barely even has time to breathe in a gasp of air before their lips are sealed together again.

Every point of friction between them builds up a heat that warms Roy in places he didn't even know were cold. He's pulling Edward in tighter and pushing his knee between Edward's legs. Edward parts for him easily. Roy's fingers itch to move further down and lift Edward up into his arms, but Roy would much rather continue doing this than get kneed in the groin for pushing too far, so he holds back.

Edward breaks the kiss, and Roy chases after his lips. He doesn't get what he wants; Edward laughs quietly, and the puffs of his breath tingle against Roy's own mouth. "C'mon, bastard. I know you want to pick me up and haul me to your room. What're you waiting for?"

Groaning, Roy gives in. He slides his hands down along Edwards sides—which seems to tickle, if Edward's little twitch and quick exhale are anything to go by—and then pushes his fingers into the meat of Edward's ass and pulls up. Ed obliges by wrapping his free arm around Roy's neck and slinging his legs around Roy's hips. The contact between their groins is devastating, and Roy has to strain himself not to drop Edward's weight.

Meanly, Edward leverages his hold on Roy and grinds his crotch up and then down just once. Roy's arms shake. "We won't make it to the bed if you keep that up," Roy warns.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Edward's voice is husky in a way Roy has never heard before, and it does something both pleasant and not to his already abused insides. Roy hitches Edward up to get a better grip. He expects complaints, but Edward lets out a low, breathy "unh," and attaches his lips to the juncture of Roy's jaw and neck.

Getting all the way to the bed seems to be an almost insurmountable task with Edward lavishing his mouth and hands on Roy the way he is, but Roy would kick himself later if their first time was anywhere but in his room, where he could give Edward everything.

They stagger up the stairs, Edward seemingly oblivious to Roy's struggles. Once, Roy has to stop and push Edward against the wall just to give his arms a break. This does nothing to deter Edward from his crusade to be as distracting and destructive to Roy as possible. He leans his head back against the wall, creating a mess out of his hair, and moans as he pushes his hips into Roy's. He releases Roy's shirtfront in order to pull his hair out of its ponytail, which only makes things worse.

It's like Edward knows everything Roy wants and is eager to offer it up on a silver platter. Renewed by his desire to bury his fingers in Edward's mane, Roy shifts Edward again and treks the rest of the way up the stairs. Roy forges the way into the bedroom with less grace than he would like, but when he is able—finally—to toss Edward gently onto the bed, he feels pretty proud of himself.

Edward is already reaching out, though, and tugging Roy in by the excess material of his uniform pants. Edward is on his knees and supporting himself with his prosthetic hand, and he looks more inviting than he has any right to look.

"C'mere," Edward says, practically whines. It shouldn't make Roy feel the way it does, but it's like he can't help himself. Roy allows Edward to reel him in, but rather than pull Roy all the way to the bed, Edward gets Roy just close enough so that he can attack the clasps of Roy's uniform.

"Uh," Roy stutters. Edward doesn't pause, and Roy has a moment of panic while he tries to figure out where to put his hands. He settles, of course, for running one through Edward's bangs. Edward looks up when he feels the touch. His expression is, to put it lightly, determined, but he smirks and closes his eyes like he's enjoying the feel of Roy's fingers in his hair. And then he tips forward again and finally gets to the zipper of Roy's trousers.

Bracing himself on Roy's hips, Edward bends his head down and mouths at the zipper. Roy can't really feel much through the layers of clothes, but his hips stutter anyway. "Edward," Roy says, surprised by how weak he sounds. Ed's goal becomes clear a moment later when, hands still gripping Roy's hips, Ed manages to pull down the zipper. With his teeth, apparently. "How—"

"Call me Ed," he cuts in, "and shut up." His voice is muffled a little bit, no doubt by the article of clothing still captured between his teeth. But then Ed is pushing himself upward and pulling Roy the rest of the way to the bed so that he can latch his mouth to the inner corner of Roy's collar bone. Roy sucks in a breath and then another when he feels Ed's fingers fumbling with the buttons on Roy's shirt.

"When exactly," Roy grunts, "did you get so good at undressing other people?"

Ed detaches his lips from Roy's chest with a light smacking sound and says, quite bitchily, "you talk too much, you know?"

And then he kisses Roy on the mouth, presumably to shut Roy up. It works, of course, but Roy is happy to preoccupy himself elsewhere. He reaches out and drags his fingers along the rough material of Ed's own trousers until he finds the buttons at the front. With Ed's tongue exploring his mouth and Ed's fingers making quick work of removing his shirt, Roy works hastily to get some access to Ed's skin.

He finds, delightedly, that Ed is already hard. His cock is straining upwards and is warm and smooth as Roy takes it in hand. Ed hums pleasantly as Roy slides his hand experimentally down the shaft, and the sound reverberates in Roy's own mouth.

Once Roy's shirt has been tossed to a random corner of the room, Ed slides his hands roughly down Roy's bare chest before bunching up the material of Roy's trousers and underpants and using the gathered material to push the clothes downward. Obligingly, Roy steps out of the last of his clothes. Ed watches him with apparent hunger darkening his eyes.

Roy, pretending he has some control over this situation, uses the palm of his hand to gently push Ed back onto the bed and then removes, first, Ed's shoes, and then quickly follows with the trousers and undergarments that are tangled around his thighs. Roy drops the clothes unceremoniously on the floor and quickly climbs onto the bed so that he can capture Ed's lips with his own again. Ed kisses back eagerly and pushes his hips up against Roy's.

The slide of skin against skin, with Ed's cock nearly aligned with Roy's own, is enough to make Roy's muscles clench and make his breathing labored. He very nearly gives into the temptation to push Ed into the bed and continue rutting, but he wants to see more of Ed's skin, wants to see the mark again.

He separates Ed's torso from his with firm but gentle hands and then makes quick work of the waistcoat buttons. He reaches for the shirt buttons next, but he only manages to undo the top two before Ed grabs his hands and stills them.

"Wait," Ed says. He's breathless but urgent. "Wait."

"Ed, it's all right. I just want—"

But Ed shakes his head and grips Roy's hand tighter, almost enough to hurt. "Next time," he promises. "Please."

Roy hesitates, assurances on the tip of his tongue. But then he thinks, _maybe he isn't ready yet_. And as much as Roy would like to think he's the type of man who would wait until they really talked about this, about them, to continue, he's far too drunk—on cognac, on Ed—to stop.

"Okay," Roy agrees. "Okay." He settles for pushing the waistcoat off of Ed's shoulders, and once Ed is free of it, Roy allows Ed to push him over and climb on top. Ed kisses Roy on the mouth once, twice, and then quickly moves on to other patches of skin. His lips trail over Roy's jaw and his tongue laves at the spot where Roy's neck meets his shoulder. Ed pulls back and traces his hands down Roy's chest, and Ed's eyes dart from here to there, like he's taking in every detail—every divot, scar, and patch of hair.

Ed skims right over the most aching part of Roy, and Roy has to suppress a plea. This torture is far too good to cut short. Ed laces the fingers of his left hand into Roy's and then uses that to pin Roy's hand into place. Ed then uses his prosthetic hand to push Roy's legs apart before diving in to trace kisses from his inner thigh down to his knee. Roy's cock twitches every time Ed's warmed lips touch somewhere new.

Roy doesn't expect Ed to trace his way all the way down to Roy's feet, but he definitely feels a light skim of fingers along the side of one foot, and Roy twitches a little involuntarily. Ed smirks and then sets back on his legs. He's teasing his lower lip with his teeth, and his cock is still standing straight up. Roy thinks about hauling Ed in and putting his hands all over it, but he waits. Eventually, Ed says, "flip over."

Surprised, Roy lifts his brow, but Ed lifts his own in what can only be interpreted as a challenge for Roy to refuse. Curious to see where this leads, however, Roy does as he's told. Ed wastes no time; he wraps his hands around Roy's ankles and then slowly smooths his palms upward along the skin there. He pauses to leave a surprising kiss on the back of each knee before continuing his journey higher. Roy contorts his neck so that he can turn and watch, but Ed doesn't look up. His body is stretched over Roy and supported on all fours, and when he can stretch no further, he climbs up and settles himself on Roy's lower back, a knee planted on either side of Roy's hips.

Nearly every inch of Roy has been kissed, touched, or licked, and it is leaving Roy shaking with anticipation. He still isn't sure where this is going, but he's too enraptured with watching Ed's exploration of his body to ask. Ed trails his fingers over the backs of Roy's arms before wrapping them around Roy's wrists and gently guiding his hands until they meet up above his head. Ed readjusts and pins Roy there with one hand.

Like this, Roy can't hardly see a thing, and he relies on feeling alone. A cool hand touches the base of Roy's neck, and then fingers push up into his hair. There's a slight tug at the roots as Ed gently works his fingers through the strands. The feeling is both relaxing and stimulating; Roy feels himself sinking into the bed even as goosebumps erupt all over his skin. His cock gives yet another twitch of interest, and Roy can't help but grind his hips into the bed in hopes of some friction.

He expects Ed to make a comment about Roy's impatience, but it seems Ed's attention is otherwise engaged. Roy feels it when Ed leans over him and brushes his chest and groin along Roy's backside. It's not as stimulating for him this way, with Ed's clothed chest pushing against his back rather than his front—though the brush of Ed's cock against his ass gives him a rather pleasant jolt—but Ed hums again, pleased, and takes up kissing the back of Roy's neck, which seems to be far more sensitive than he remembers it being.

Ed noses at the shell of Roy's left ear for a moment, and Roy knows that Ed is entirely aware of the effect each of his little touches are having. It's driving Roy mad, and Ed is enjoying it thoroughly. Teeth scrape gently at his ear once, and then Ed says, "you're going to fuck me, General. Is that understood?"

"Y-yes," Roy answers unsteadily.

"Good."

And then Ed lets go of his hands and clambers off of Roy. Confusion reigns over Roy for a moment as Ed drops down onto the bed, but then Ed is spreading his legs, his knee digging into Roy's hip without any semblance of subtlety. Roy pushes himself up; his arms and legs feel weak but are stable enough to support his weight.

Roy has no choice but to dig around in the drawer of his bedside table for supplies he hasn't used as recently as he would like to say he has. He manages to find a half-used bottle of slick lubricant but has to expend some energy getting the bottle to open. When he does, he spreads the lubricant over his fingers and then promptly notes the heat in his face as he starts to imagine what he is about to do.

Using his clean hand, Roy grabs a pillow from the top of the bed and drags it over with him. "Here," he says, placing it at the center of the bed, "for your hips."

Ed contemplates the pillow with a faint expression of bemusement, but soon enough he readjusts and lays himself over it exactly the way he's supposed to. "You're so kind," Ed quips, but his smirk is much softer than usual. Roy bends over him to kiss it. Ed eagerly slips his fingers into Roy's hair again, and Roy wonders whether Ed enjoys touching Roy's hair as much as Roy has wanted to toy with Ed's.

Roy doesn't break the kiss to ask. He reaches down with his slicked fingers past Ed's hardness. Ed helpfully lifts and spreads legs out of the way so that Roy can feel for the hole he's seeking and push his way inside.

Ed's lips part from Roy's with a gasp, but he doesn't let go of his hold. Roy would love to see the expressions Ed flits through, but instead he hears every hitching breath and feels the heaving of Ed's chest as he works his fingers in one at a time. It isn't long before Ed is wriggling and pushing himself down onto Roy's hand, seeking for that one spot that will make him moan the loudest, but Roy pulls back and doesn't give him what he wants, not yet.

Roy pulls out his fingers and wipes off the excess surreptitiously somewhere on the bed before reaching again for the bottle of slick. He strokes himself a little, the liquid smoothing the way. He doesn't need to do much—he's been hard and leaking for ages already—and Ed is already making noises of impatience.

"Fuck, Roy," Ed gasps. Ed is watching him again. The intensity of the gaze would be unsettling if Roy wasn't enjoying it so much. He's not sure whether Ed has ever just called him Roy before, but he likes the sound of it in Ed's voice already. "C'mon," Ed begs.

"Patience," Roy admonishes, but he gives in and crawls over Ed so that he can position himself. He kisses Ed again, unable to satisfy the need to push their mouths together and taste. He can't aim where he wants to go without looking, but he teases Ed's entrance with his tip. Ed shudders, and Roy feels it all the way down, and Ed keens, high and needy.

Mercifully, Roy likes to think, he breaks the kiss and settles in to do what it is Ed wants. He lines up and then pushes in, gentle and slow. Ed, always talented at whatever it is he tries to do, relaxes and opens up for him.

The heat itself is alluring, but the way Roy is able to slide smoothly into the tightness of Ed's body is transcendent. Ed, apparently, agrees. He hums again and says, "fucking—more, fuck."

Roy pulls out equally as slow. He's shaking with the strain, but then, he notices, so is Ed. It's harder to hold back now, but it makes the whole thing better in the end. Ed wraps his legs around Roy's hips. The coolness of the prosthetic leg is a little shocking against his heated skin at first, but Roy is over it quickly as he pushes his way in again. "Fuck," Ed says again.

"So eloquent," Roy teases.

"Yeah," Ed says, breathless, "well—" Roy snaps his hips forward, and Ed cuts himself off with a moan. "Yeah," he says again, lower this time. "More."

Roy can't help but laugh a little. "If I'd known," he grunts as he pulls out again, "that this was the way," snap in, pull out, "to shut you up—"

Roy fucks in again, and Ed lets out another low moan from the back of his throat. One of his arms is wrapped around Roy's shoulders, and the other is laying across his eyes, unfortunately hiding them from Roy's view.

"—I'd have done this a long time ago."

Roy picks up the pace a little more with each thrust, and he's liking more and more the way Ed's whole body recoils with the force of Roy fucking in and out of him. "How," Ed says, sounding like the word was punched out of him, "long?"

"Hmm?" Roy lowers himself enough to nose his way underneath the collar of Ed's shirt and lick the salty sweat from where it gathers at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"How long ago?" Ed says, sounding like he can't get many more words out than that.

"You mean," Roy says, lifting himself up again and leveraging the angle to quicken his pace yet again, "how long ago—would I have fucked you?

"Unh—yeah," Ed breathes. It sounds like both a moan and and answer.

Roy takes a moment to admire the flush adorning the part of Ed's chest that isn't covered by the shirt, and then he answers, "I don't know."

He can tell Ed doesn't like the answer from the way his features scrunch up momentarily, but Roy quickly corrects that by rolling his hips and making Ed gasp. Ed removes the arm covering his eyes. His lids remain closed for a moment, but Roy keeps watching and is rewarded when Ed finally opens them. Ed's eyes are bright, even more so than usual, and a little glassy. A little moisture has gathered at the corner of one, and without breaking stride, Roy reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb. Ed's breath hitches.

"I'm afraid to say," Roy admits. "You're still young as it is."

That answer seems to be satisfactory to Ed; he nods once and then shifts his hips. "Oh," he says, and his eyes close again. Roy fucks in right _there_ , and soon he's also left gasping. He steadies himself on one hand and then reaches for Ed's cock.

Ed whines in the back of his throat at the contact, and Roy takes that as encouragement. Ed's hips jackknife once or twice as he settles into getting fucked and rubbed off at the same time, and the way he clenches around Roy's own cock urges Roy to slam in hard. Ed just takes it, his fingers scrabbling for Roy's arms and shoulders. "Come for me, Ed. It's okay."

And just like that, Ed is coming. Warm wetness spreads over Roy's hand as he continues to stroke Edward through it, and Roy struggles to maintain his even pace in the face of his own impending orgasm.

Ed sucks in a breath through his teeth and says, "ah, ah," so Roy lets go, but Ed continues to clench and release his muscles around Roy's cock as Roy drives in and out. Roy takes a second to readjust, sits back on his legs and pulls Ed in closer so that he can throw Ed's legs over his arms. Ed allows himself to be manhandled with the looseness of a rag doll. A few more thrusts and the pressure inside of Roy builds to heights he doesn't think he can maintain. His hips snap once, twice, more, and he erupts. He pushes in just a little deeper, eliciting a weak grunt from Ed, who clenches once more around him. All of Roy's muscles tense as he empties himself into Ed, and they only relax once he is spent.

Roy realizes, once it's over, that he's shaking so much the whole bed trembles. He gives in and drops down onto the bed—next to Ed because he can't imagine the bitching he'd get for dropping on top.

They lay in comfortable, satiated silence for several minutes. A foot reaches out and brushes against the almost too-sensitive skin of Roy's calf, but he doesn't push it away. Ed takes this as an invitation, and rolls over until he's flush with Roy's side.

There's a stickiness all over Ed that should be uncomfortable but isn't all that terrible, really. It's not so bad that Roy feels the need to move away immediately. He gives the peace another minute or two to just exist.

When his breathing slows and evens out and starts to match with Ed's, he says, softly, "we need to clean up."

"Don't wanna move," Ed protests tiredly.

Roy laughs. "You don't have to."

Ed hums his approval of that and snuggles more into Roy's chest. "C'n I stay?"

Unexpectedly, Roy is brought up short. He'd never thought—but of course he wants. "Yes," he says. He wants to see Edward here, in his bed, in the morning. He wants that every morning. "Of course."

* * *

When the sunlight filters into Roy's window, he rolls away from it. _Just a little while longer_ , he thinks, but then his hand drifts out to the other side of the bed, and it's not cold, but it's empty. There's no one there.


	3. The Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ed came home this morning and started packing for Resembool," Alphonse says. 
> 
> It hits Roy like a slap to the face, and he can't stop his shoulders from bunching up with tension. 
> 
> Lowering his voice, Alphonse says, "I know he spent the night at your place. What did you do?"
> 
> Roy wishes he had a cup of tea, just so he had something to do with his hands. They feel useless; flashes of them smoothing over tan skin leave them clenching and releasing in impotence. 
> 
> "It's more like," Roy says hoarsely, "what I didn't do."
> 
> The judgement emanating from the other side of the table is tangible. "You didn't even talk about the soulmark, did you?"
> 
> Roy shakes his head and gazes at the table top. It's a clean white that shimmers the slightest bit in the sunlight. A lump of burning shame falls into the pit of his stomach when he realizes he's imagining Ed spread out over the surface. _What is wrong with him_? Just one night together and he can't think of anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of talking and not a lot of Ed. And it's probably got more angst than necessary. Sorry! It ends on a lighthearted note, though. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Roy didn't bother to hold out hope that Edward was just gone to the bathroom or futzing around the kitchen in search of food that morning, but the disappointment is still stinging hours later as he sits at his desk—with still no word from Ed—and tries not to think about the night before. Every time Roy closes his eyes, he sees a flash of Ed, panting or squeezing his eyes shut, and every casual touch from Riza or another member of his team reminds him of Ed's ghosting fingers—because there isn't a part of Roy that Ed hasn't touched now.

In short, Roy is going mad. The third time Roy flinches as Riza reaches around him to grab a report, she stops, glares at him, and smacks the report back down on his desk. "Permission to speak freely, General Mustang," she barks.

Roy sighs, closes his eyes, but Riza doesn't go away. "Permission granted," he says but not without instant regret.

"What the—pardon my language—fuck is your problem, sir?"

It's a near thing, but Roy doesn't flinch again. Riza never swears at the office, and she rarely does so to his face even in private. But then, it's probably unsettling for her to witness Roy like this, a wreck. He had spared, what, a single tear for Maes's death in her presence? Compared to then, Roy probably looks as if he's on the verge of a mental breakdown. And he is. It's his own fault, too. He should have told Ed no. He should have just talked about the damn soul mark. He should have made sure Ed knew that Roy had seen it.

Because in the sobering light of day, Roy realizes that _that_ is the worst part. That Roy allowed Ed to sleep with him when Ed thought that Roy still had no idea. Ed had stripped Roy down and sought out every inch of Roy's body. He is well aware of the absence of a single mark. The likelihood of Roy getting Ed to talk about the subject now is nearly nonexistent. As it is, the chances of Roy ever seeing Ed again are starting to seem very slim.

"I fucked up," Roy announces, albeit quietly.

"I'm sorry?" In her surprise, Riza forgets to tack on the _sir_.

Roy drops his head into his hands and pulls at his hair. Of course, this makes him think of Ed's fingers slipping through the strands last night. He tugs harder. "I fucked up," he says again, a bit louder.

A sigh, then, "would you like to talk about it, sir?"

Roy is still looking down at his desk, hiding behind his hands. "No." With a small smirk just for himself he says, "but if you could yell at me for a while for being such a moron, Colonel, I'd appreciate it."

"It's a bit hard to yell at you," Riza replies softly, "when I don't know exactly what it is you've done." Roy drops his hands to peek at Riza and catches her watching him with sad eyes. She quickly corrects herself, though, and snaps her eyes forward. Straight-backed, she adds, "Sir!"

Roy chuckles. He usually tries to maintain some semblance of seriousness with Riza, as she has a tendency to be a bit punishing when she thinks Roy is being too cavalier for a man who aspires to be Führer. But today he's clearly at the end of his rope, and Riza being Riza is probably one of the best antidotes for his dour mood.

But the reprieve doesn't last long. The dull blanket that's been shrouding Roy all day descends yet again, and the corners of his lips slip downward as he remembers the night before and the empty bed this morning. "Ed came to see me last night," Roy admits.

Riza glances at the door, which is shut, and then the chair on the other side of Roy's desk, which she sits in. She doesn't say anything; she just waits him out.

"I was already . . . not in the best of sorts, and well, we somehow never got around to talking about it."

"About the mark, you mean?"

Roy smiles bitterly. "Always straight to the point with you, Hawkeye. Yes, the mark."

"How long was he there?"

Shaking his head, Roy says, "I'm not sure. Most of the night, though, I think."

Riza's eyebrows migrate halfway up her forehead, it seems like. "He was there for hours and you didn't manage to speak about the soulmark?"

Roy sighs. He knows what judgment he is about to face. He might as well get it over with, like ripping out stitches. "We were otherwise engaged."

"You—" Riza stops, and her brow furrows, and then understanding lights her eyes for the briefest of moments. And then what Roy was afraid to face comes. "You slept with him without discussing the soulmark!"

Her accusation is right on the money, and Roy doesn't bother refuting the claim.

"How is that even possible, sir?" Riza's tone is harsh, as expected. It lets Roy know exactly what she thinks of what he's done. Honestly he would have preferred outright yelling to this—this disappointment.

"He wouldn't let me remove his shirt," Roy says.

Riza huffs. "So he thinks you still don't know."

"I don't know," Roy admits, "not for sure. He could suspect I know, but I'm operating under the assumption he still thinks I don't know that I—well. That I don't know."

Riza's fury is palpable. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't really have to. It's oddly relieving, though, to have someone make their disappointment in him clear. It makes him feel completely miserable, to be sure, but he thinks he deserves it.

"You have to fix this, sir."

The words ring familiar; it takes Roy a moment to place them, but when he does, he smiles. "You sound like Alphonse."

Riza startles. "You've talked to Alphonse about this?"

"No. When he came by yesterday, he told me I needed to tell Ed I knew. And then because he doesn't trust me to own up to something like that, he told Ed to come by and see me, which he did. Obviously."

"I'm sure Alphonse trusts you; otherwise he wouldn't have sent his brother to you. The problem is he trusted you too much."

Roy hangs his head at that, knowing he should feel ashamed. And he does, truly.

"And now his plan has backfired spectacularly all because you can't keep it in your pants when it comes to Edward Elric!"

Sputtering, Roy balks at the claim. "How dare—I have never—this is the first time I ever—"

"I know this was the first time," Riza says, not giving an inch, "but you've been slowly giving out more and more of yourself to Ed since the day you met him. Now you've given him nearly everything you have to give, and it's all come back to slap you in the face."

Roy sighs. She is at least partially right. He doesn't doubt that there is more he has to give Ed, or he hopes it anyway, but saying that now will likely earn a slap to the wrist, or worse. The fact is that Roy hasn't been careful, and now, whether he has more to give or not is irrelevant because Ed isn't going to give him the chance.

"You're right."

Riza nods, and then she says, "but it's not too late, sir. You can make this right." She says it with all the quiet confidence she's always given Roy. Not for the first time, it strikes him that he doesn't deserve this. For all his blustering about becoming Führer, he still hasn't achieved that goal, and now he's not even sure he can own up to something to his own soulmate. Or his soulmate-adjacent love interest, rather.

"I suppose I'll have to try, at least."

That seems to be enough of a promise for Riza. She nods once more and stands, offering a salute.

Properly chastened, Roy dismisses his Colonel with a salute of his own.

* * *

Roy leaves headquarters feeling not quite as desolate as he entered them, though his mind runs over the same worries over and over again like a tongue seeking a sore spot in a mouth. He knows he can always try; that doesn't mean Edward will bend. Likely, even if Roy manages to catch the little shit, Ed will not listen. At the outer gate of headquarters, Roy sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He feels like he's breaking. Since when is Roy anything but stone faced while in proximity of the office he one day hopes to hold?

"Hello, General.”

Swallowing, Roy freezes, hand still covering his face. There's no mistaking that voice; it freezes his blood a little bit faster each time. "Hello, Alphonse," Roy says, attempting for nonchalance.

Alphonse doesn't speak right away, and Roy knows, even with his blind eye and his other eye covered, that he is being studied. Roy doesn't think Edward would have . . . divulged what they got up to the night before to Alphonse, but there is no doubt Alphonse would have caught on that something is wrong. Roy tries not to feel too relieved that he still stands; the blessing might not last much longer.

"When I said to fix it," Alphonse says, getting to the point, "I meant you should use your words. Not your—"

Scrambling, Roy shoots out his hand and prays he doesn't miss. When he finally gets his bearings, he finds he was able to, in fact, slap his hand over Alphonse's mouth in time. Alphonse glares at Roy over the top of Roy's hand. The expression is far more menacing than Alphonse ever looked as a seven-foot tall suit of armor adorned with spikes.

"Not here," Roy hisses.

Alphonse grabs Roy at the wrist and wrenches Roy's hand away, but thankfully he doesn't finish his earlier thought. He simply turns on his heel and stalks away. Roy blinks after him for a second and then realizes he is meant to follow. Wary of being led into any dark and narrow dead-end alleys, Roy keeps pace with Alphonse. He doesn't catch up to walk alongside, lest the young man get any ideas about continuing this conversation within earshot of anyone who might just feel enterprising enough to take Roy out at the knees.

After what feels like an age of walking to his own slaughter, Roy follows Alphonse into a small coffee shop. It's just far away and frilly enough that most soldiers don't bother with the place, and Roy both praises Alphonse for his thoughtfulness and swallows down the fear that Alphonse just might be clever enough to rule the world one day if he chooses to.

Alphonse takes a seat, and Roy moves to join him, though he has to pause in the face of Alphonse's palpable anger and wonder whether sitting down is likely to end with him blown to pieces.

"Sit," Alphonse orders. Roy drops onto the chair opposite. "Explain."

Roy takes a deep breath and looks around the cafe. They don't seem to be in danger of being interrupted by a waiter, which is relieving but not promising for the shop's future.

Even establishing that no one around is listening or even cares that Brigadier General Roy Mustang is sitting here in a whimsical cafe with a young man, Roy is hesitant to begin. He doesn't have any excuses, not any good ones anyway. "I—," Roy starts, but he swallows down any half-formed thoughts that might have come after. He doesn't know what to say.

"Ed came home this morning and started packing for Resembool," Alphonse says.

It hits Roy like a slap to the face, and he can't stop his shoulders from bunching up with tension.

Lowering his voice, Alphonse says, "I know he spent the night at your place. What did you do?"

Roy wishes he had a cup of tea, just so he had something to do with his hands. They feel useless; flashes of them smoothing over tan skin leave them clenching and releasing in impotence.

"It's more like," Roy says hoarsely, "what I didn't do."

The judgement emanating from the other side of the table is tangible. "You didn't even talk about the soulmark, did you?"

Roy shakes his head and gazes at the table top. It's a clean white that shimmers the slightest bit in the sunlight. A lump of burning shame falls into the pit of his stomach when he realizes he's imagining Ed spread out over the surface. _What is wrong with him_? Just one night together and he can't think of anything else. He's sure his face is red; hopefully Alphonse just reads it as shame over not doing what he should have. That is certainly part of it, anyway.

Alphonse sighs. "I told Ed I wasn't ready to go to Resembool yet. He was angry, of course. He says he wants new automail; the prosthesis are hardly suitable substitutes, but he's lived without automail for years on the other side. What he really wants is to get away from Central."

"From me," Roy surmises.

Alphonse doesn't nod or agree, but Roy doesn't need him to. "There are things . . . we lived entire lives on that other world while we were there, but I know that coming home is the one thing my brother has dreamed of since we destroyed that gate. You and Ed seem to think you have each other entirely figured out, but you don't know what Ed has been through since you saw him last, and Ed has no idea that you're hopelessly in love with him."

Roy closes his eye. He doesn't ask how Alphonse knows.

"I was confused, you know, when I met you the first time after my memories were all taken away. I couldn't figure out what it was that lingered in your eyes when I talked to you about how I knew my brother was still alive. Everyone in Central said you were punishing yourself, taking up a post in the North, for not managing to save the Führer in time. The team knew it was something else, but they never told me what it was. I never figured it out, not until the day Ed came back, and you just showed up like that to help him. You were a completely different person, and my brother was the reason."

Alphonse pauses, but Roy doesn't have anything to say. All he can do is listen to his sins being laid out to him.

"I got my memories back." The statement seems out of place, a non sequitur. "After we went back through the gate. I didn't think about it right away, but eventually it all made sense."

"You knew I was—before," Roy says brokenly.

"I knew you were brother's soulmate. I remembered the mark."

Clearing his throat, Roy asks, "did you know I don't match?"

Alphonse doesn't answer the question. He says, "you need to talk to him again. There's only so long I can hold him off before he tries to drag me to Resembool. There are things Ed _needs_ to tell you."

"Okay," Roy says.

"He's at the inn on Rosemary street. Room 317.”

Alphonse stands up and gathers his coat, pushes his chair in. Roy remains in his seat, unsure exactly what to do now. "Where are you going?"

"On a walk," Alphonse says brightly, like they had just been chatting about what a lovely day it is. It isn't. The clouds are looming menacingly, threatening rain. Roy would be lucky to make it home without getting soaked. But he isn't going home, it sounds like. "I'll see you around, General."

The tone implies bodily harm if Roy doesn't do what Al expects of him. Roy knows his answering smile is frail, but he's too preoccupied with thoughts of failure to drudge up a real one.

* * *

Roy waits for sixteen years before he gives up on having a soulmate. He spends the next thirteen chasing skirts, getting into trouble, and throwing himself into the military. And then he wakes up one day, puts on his uniform, trudges into Central, and finds himself on the receiving end of a brilliant smile. He is faced with dark gold eyelashes, a hint of white teeth, and a thick braid being tossed over a slender shoulder.

For three years, Roy has looked at Edward Elric and seen nothing but a child with a horrific past and a bright mind. But today he sees something else. Today, he feels his stomach swoop and his heart drop with dread. Edward is only fifteen years old.

"Well if it isn't Colonel Bastard," Ed says, practically sings. He's got one hip cocked against a desk—Lieutenant Havoc's desk, to be precise. Roy tries not to cut his eyes over to said Lieutenant and finds himself instead fixating on that hip, covered in leather, of all the ridiculous things. Ed's ostentatious red coat is tossed somewhere out of sight, and a quick glance upward lets Roy know that the metal clasp that normally keeps Ed's jacket secured has been popped open. Roy intends to burn a hole in the desk where it meets Ed's hip, but his eyes are caught by a smudge of something on Ed's collarbone. It's a light-swallowing black—soot, or grease maybe. Ensnared, Roy follows the trail upward, like one would follow the composition of a painting, and catches on red lips, matched by the deep red of a scratch on Ed's cheek.

The burnished yellow braid isn't quite as orderly as usual; though it's never too neat, today there are strands dripping from it everywhere. Ed blinks at Roy, his sneer frozen, and a loose tangle of hair catches in his eyelashes. Roy's breath catches in his throat. He knows everyone is staring at him. He imagines Havoc's cigarette falling from his mouth in shock as he undoubtedly realizes what's going through Roy's mind.

"Something wrong, sir?"

Thank gods for Riza. Roy closes his eyes and swallows. "I'm simply shocked," he grinds out when he opens his eyes again. They settle on Ed's gold ones, the epicenter of the masterpiece. Ed looks just as knocked back as Roy feels. "I haven't heard any reports of cities laid to waste by a midget, and yet here we are, graced by the presence of the Fullmetal alchemist."

There's a snort followed by some hasty, suspicious coughs. Riza sighs and starts working again, muttering something that sounds like _it's your funeral_. Ed no longer looks resplendently breathless. His brows are scrunching together and his lips are slipping into a snarl.

"Who are you calling so short he couldn't climb out of a self-made crater with a ladder."

Edward’s tone is deceptively calm. There's steam practically rising from the top of his head. Roy thinks it's unfair—Ed looks pissed, like Roy intended, but no less beautiful, which only makes this harder.

Roy smirks anyway. His mind is flashing—abort, abort!—but on the outside, his face is as smooth as glass. "I don't know, Fullmetal. I heard Alphonse had to toss someone over a ledge on your last mission. You wouldn't happen to remember who that was, would you?"

"Oh, you're asking for it," Ed threatens, and Roy thinks, _oh gods, I am_. Ed pushes himself away from Havoc's desk—Roy's heart doesn't stutter; it _doesn't_ —and raises his hands, prepared to clap them together.

"That's enough," Riza interrupts, voice hard as diamonds. "May I remind you, Colonel, that you already have enough paperwork due today. And Fullmetal, you need to turn in your report so that you can get started on your next assignment. Take this into the Colonel's office. And for gods’ sake, no destruction of any kind, please."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Roy replies brusquely. He won't get a break from Riza for at least a week after this, but he can't take his eyes off of Edward. "Shall we?"

Roy gestures with his hand toward his personal office. Edward lowers his own hands, finally, and stomps his way into the room. Roy doesn't even notice at first the way his eyes track Edward from top to bottom and up again, but then he shakes himself out of his stupor and follows. He tries not to think about what's going to happen when he goes into that room and closes the door because he knows that whatever does happen won't be anywhere near what he's fantasizing. Because Edward is far too young, and Roy isn't quite stupid enough to touch. He isn't about to stick his hands in that fire, despite how much he suddenly wants to.


	4. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door swings open. 
> 
> "I swear to god, Al—"
> 
> Ed stops. He stares. But Roy is staring, too. Ed looks immaculate. There's not a single sign of their night together, and Roy instantly regrets not leaving a mark. He wants to claim that skin. He already put his words on it; he wants more of it covered with signs of him. 
> 
> "General."
> 
> "Ed," Roy says, voice rough. Ed looks away like he can't face whatever emotion Roy is dumping at his feet. 
> 
> "What a surprise," Ed says coldly.
> 
> Despite himself, Roy reaches out, slowly, and traces a finger down Ed's cheek. "Is it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! We've come to the end of this fic. I'll be awaiting all of your guys' final judgments. 
> 
> I will not be surprised if many of you reach the end and (assuming you actually enjoyed reading this) ask yourself, but? More? Because although this chapter definitely ties up all the little plot lines and explains everything, there's so much more I could write for this 'verse. I just liked where I stopped so much that I couldn't bring myself to add another word.
> 
> HOWEVER--that doesn't mean I won't be writing a sequel or separate epilogue sometime in the near future. I really enjoyed writing this fic and have aspirations to write more of it. Right now I've got some ideas bumping around for an AU for these two fools, but when the mood strikes me, you may find there is more to come in this story. So don't despair! 
> 
> Now for a little warning. I just feel I have to say it. Alternate Roy gets dealt a really shitty hand in this fic. The inspiration for this ending hit me only a few paragraphs into this story and I couldn't let it go. I've read quite a few (excellent and beautifully written) fics where Ed ends up together with alternate Roy, and as much as I enjoyed those fics, I often found myself getting sad just thinking about original Roy being all alone without Ed on the other side of the gate. So I guess you could say this is my revenge for original Roy. But I do love alternate Roy and feel obligated to apologize in advance. So. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Anyway I should stop rambling here like this is my journal. Happy reading!

Roy is standing outside of room 317. He tries not to feel like an idiot who has no idea what he's doing here, but it's impossible. There's no telling exactly how long he's just been standing here listening. Not long enough for anyone to come by and shoot him looks but more than long enough just the same.

Ed isn't banging around in the room, but there's enough faint shuffling for Roy to know the room isn't empty. All he has to do is knock. Roy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, raises his hand, hesitates, and then lowers it again. He sighs at himself and all of his failings. "You're pathetic, Mustang," he tells himself.

The room is silent at the moment. Roy listens intently for another shuffle. After a moment, he hears uneven steps. There's a voice, distinctly Ed's, and it's distinctly displeased, but Roy can't hear exactly what he's saying. The steps are getting closer, Roy realizes far too late. He panics and looks around himself for a moment as if an answer will pop up out of the wall. Nothing does, and when the steps stop right on the other side of the door, Roy faces front again, heart hammering away in his chest.

The door swings open.

"I swear to god, Al—"

Ed stops. He stares. But Roy is staring, too. Ed looks immaculate. There's not a single sign of their night together, and Roy instantly regrets not leaving a mark. He wants to claim that skin. He already put his words on it; he wants more of it covered with signs of him.

"General."

"Ed," Roy says, voice rough. Ed looks away like he can't face whatever emotion Roy is dumping at his feet.

"What a surprise," Ed says coldly.

Despite himself, Roy reaches out, slowly, and traces a finger down Ed's cheek. "Is it?"

Ed turns, his expression clearly startled. He doesn't say anything. He's fluctuating, unsure what to do. _Good_ , Roy thinks. _Let him feel as unsettled as he makes me feel every time I see him_.

"Maybe you should come inside," Ed says finally. He turns away from Roy and leaves the door open in invitation. Roy follows him inside but doesn't make it far. Ed is standing in the middle of the room, seemingly reluctant to sit on the bed or the chair in the corner. No doubt he doesn't want to open himself up to that level of familiarity. It's strategic, and it hurts. But Roy pushes that aside. He's not here for himself.

Roy closes the door firmly. Ed doesn't flinch at the sound or turn around. He's standing near a suitcase that is packed nearly full. Roy ignores that as well—he would never stop Ed from returning to Resembool whenever he wanted. All he is here for is to make sure Ed knows, to tell the truth. All of it.

However near Roy comes, Ed doesn't move a muscle. He's coiled up tightly, but he isn't about to pounce or jump out of the way. He's forcing himself to wait. He wants Roy to make the first move this time. Roy moves in closer than he tells himself he should. There's not an inch between them now. He's facing down the point on top of Ed's head where Ed has gathered his hair up into a tail, and the stray strands nearly tickle Roy's chin.

Roy lifts his hands and hovers them over Ed's arms. He wants to touch but not scare Ed away, so he moves slowly, telegraphing his movements. When Roy's fingers finally brush the white fabric covering Ed's arms, there's no explosion. Ed doesn't expand and expel his anger.

Ed sighs. His shoulders drop. Roy presses his fingers into the muscle, and Ed gives way, tilting his head back and to the side, exposing his neck. He leans into Roy's chest and settles all of his weight there. The back of his head rests on Roy's shoulder.

Roy tilts his head forward and tries to get a look at Ed's face. He can't see much, but he can follow the delicate line of Ed's nose up to his fluttering, closing eyelids. He looks peaceful in a way Roy has rarely seen. The sight squeezes Roy's heart. Closing his one good eye, Roy turns his head down the rest of the way and nuzzles it into the corner of Ed's jaw. A deep breath, drawn in by both of them. Roy breathes out onto Ed's skin, but Ed still holds his. Roy wants to press his lips in and kiss, follow the line of Ed's jaw with his tongue, but he holds himself back. He just has to remember; he's not here for this.

"Edward," Roy says. Ed shivers a little, and the motion pushes their bodies together more tightly. Goosebumps start to dot the back of Ed's neck.

"I can't—not again," Ed says, voice breaking on the last word.

Roy pushes his hands upward and then smooths them back down again before giving Ed's arms a gentle squeeze. Ed won't feel it on one side, but Roy likes the way the prosthetic arm doesn't give. It reminds him that this is real.

"Talk to me," Roy orders. He speaks gently, but he doesn't leave room for argument.

Ed bites his lip and holds everything in. Everything except for a quiet whine that escapes from the back of his throat.

"Ed—" turns his head and drags his lips against Roy's jaw, the only patch of skin he can reach. Steeling himself, Roy pulls away from Ed's questing mouth. "It's alright, Ed. Just tell me what you want to say."

Ed looks broken in that second. His eyes are squeezed shut and his jaw ticks with the force he uses to grind his teeth. Ed spins around and shoves his forehead into Roy's chest. Roy absorbs the blunt trauma and wraps his arms around Ed's shoulders. The feeling of Ed's nose pushing into his chest and rubbing lightly is distracting, to say the least, but Roy keeps holding on. "It's all right," he repeats.

"I just—" Ed cuts himself off with a small growl and knocks his forehead against Roy's chest again. "I want you to love me like him," Ed finishes quietly.

Roy wonders if he misheard. The statement makes no sense to him. "Like who?"

Instead of an answer, Roy gets lips on his and greedy hands fisting into his jacket. The onslaught is too much to fight off. Ed is dragging Roy to the bed and fumbling for the buttons on Roy's jacket. Every time Roy pulls a hand away, it moves somewhere else, and every time he turns his head, lips skim his jaw, his cheek, his ear.

Roy trips over the suitcase and falls into Ed's open legs before he manages to just barely catch himself with a hand on the edge of the bed. Ed uses Roy's vulnerability to launch another attack on his lips. Ed gets one button of Roy's shirt undone and then another before Roy thinks to use his free hand to push Ed's hands away. He pulls back, though his balance is unsteady, and gasps, "Ed."

He catches sight of Ed's pained expression and feels himself softening. If Ed pressed his advantage, Roy would surely lose, but Ed crumples. His face seems to cave in on itself before he manages to cover the destruction with his hands. He falls onto the bed with a _whump_ and just lays there for a moment, utterly still. Roy doesn't move a muscle, unsure where to go from here, but then he hears a sob, followed by a large, desperate gasp for air.

Roy kicks the damn suitcase out of the way, his blood turning cold as he watches yet another sob wrack Ed's body. It would be an understatement to say that Roy has no idea what is happening; he's lost and confused and afraid. All he knows is that he wants the crying to stop. He climbs up onto the bed, careful not to jostle Ed, and when he is situated as best he can be, he slides his arms underneath Ed's and pulls Ed into his lap. Ed curls up into himself and uses one hand to dig into the rough material of Roy's jacket and haul himself closer, deeper into Roy's arms. Roy holds on, but Ed is still crying.

"Talk to me," Roy pleads. "I don't know—" he growls a little, frustrated, "I don't know what's wrong. How—"

Ed takes a deep breath and manages to break off the sobs, but then he can't do anything but breathe in and out, the whole effort of it making his frame stutter and shake.

"I'm sorry," Ed says. "I'm sorry."

Roy shakes his head and lifts one hand to brush the bangs away from Ed's face. Ed is still covering himself with one hand, and gently, Roy nudges it away. There are tear tracks running down Ed's red cheeks, and his eyes are still screwed shut. Roy starts at the bottom of Ed's cheek and wipes away the tears that remain. Ed trembles a little as Roy does it, but the taught muscles in his face and neck relax just the smallest amount. Roy continues upward and smooths his thumb across the one eyebrow that isn't hidden by Roy's chest.

"I need you to talk to me, Edward. Please."

Ed takes one more deep breath and nods. "Okay," he says.

He doesn't speak for a long time. Roy rubs his hands over Ed's arms and back, smooths the hair that's tickling Roy's face. Ed is just breathing and ever so slowly relaxing into Roy's arms. Roy can't help but think that this is far more intimate than even their one night together in his bed, and as much as it pains him to see Ed this way, he can't say he isn't enjoying the sensation of having Ed in his arms. He feels like a fool about it, but he's been a fool about Edward for far longer than he should have.

Ed sniffs a little, catching Roy's attention. Roy watches Ed as he nuzzles into Roy's chest, like before only with more innocence. The sensation is mirrored in the way he feels his heart press against his rib cage at the sight.

"They have soulmates," Ed says. His voice is a little stuffed up from all the crying, but he says this with the conviction that it explains everything.

"Who's they?"

Ed releases a big breath and relaxes even further into Roy's hold. "On the other side of the gate. That world. They don't have alchemy, but they still have soulmates."

"Oh." Roy doesn't press for more information. He's gotten Ed to start talking; all he needs to do now is listen.

"When I first came to Central," Ed continues, jumping from one subject to another without explanation, "for the state alchemist exam, I was excited to meet you again. Al and I had talked about my mark with granny, and she explained to me what it meant that the words you said to me were carved into my skin."

_Carved_ , Roy thinks despondently.

"She told me that they were the first words my soulmate ever said to me, and that whatever my first words to you were would be on your skin." Ed laughs. He doesn't even mention or take note of the lack of shock on Roy's face, like he already knew that Roy knows about the mark. "I thought it was crazy that you already knew what I was going to say to you when we saw each other again. I thought that no one else really gets to decide what their first words to their soulmate are going to be because they don't know who their soulmate is. But I had already met you, and I spent just as long preparing to take the state alchemist exam as I spent thinking about what I was going to say to you when we met again."

Roy closes his eyes against the pain of what's coming.

"And then," Ed says, "I saw you, and I opened my dumb mouth, and when you didn't say anything or look like you cared at all, I thought I'd ruined it. I thought I'd messed up and said the wrong thing, so you didn't know that we were soulmates because I fucked up."

For a second, Roy thinks he isn't going to say it, but he knows he has to. "I don't even remember what you said to me when we met again."

Ed just laughs again. It isn't a particularly happy laugh, but it's a far cry from despairing. "I said _oh_." Ed laughs a little more, and says, "and then I said _hello_ because all I could think about was how fucking tall you were."

Burying his head deeper, Ed hides his face. Roy can't see it at all, but he thinks it might be flushed with embarrassment. He has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. This shouldn't be a happy story, and it isn't really, and yet—

"I was so sad at first," Ed continues, more quietly. "And then I was pissed at you. I realized a lot later that I probably wasn't your soulmate even though you were mine, but that just made me angrier."

"Is that the reason you were always so difficult?" Roy teases.

Ed pulls away and looks up quickly, very nearly knocking his head into Roy's chin. His face is still a bit ruddy but clear of all tears. His eyes are bright, even if his eyebrows are hunched down angrily. "Like you weren't also difficult. You got under my skin all the time," Ed complains. "I just gave back what I got."

"Sure," Roy gives magnanimously.

Ed turns his nose up in the air. "It probably didn't help, though, that I was infatuated with you," he admits. He looks a little bit scared of what he's saying, but he doesn't stop. "I still held out hope that I was really your soulmate. Al used to say that you probably just didn't want to tell me because I was still a kid, or that maybe you didn't realize we were soulmates because what I had said to you was so goddamn generic you must have heard it a thousand times before. I never considered—" Ed cuts himself off and looks at Roy. His expression is just shy of pitying. Roy would balk at it, except that there's a touch of self-deprecation in the look, like Ed blames himself.

"You never thought that I wouldn't even have a soulmark?"

Ed shook his head. "I hoped it was me, but really I just thought you must have had someone else's words."

"I don't," Roy says, just in case it's not clear.

Ed smiles ruefully. "I know that now. Suspected it, even, when I was on the other side."

"Oh?" There's a sense of foreboding lodged in the base of Roy's throat, but he doesn't know what for. "What made you think so?"

Ed scrapes his top lip with his teeth nervously. He looks at Roy and then away again. "I don't want you to hate me," Ed says quietly.

The fear in Roy drops through his chest and into his stomach, but he says, "I could never hate you."

Ed searches his eyes. He's looking for something. Roy doesn't know what exactly it is, but Ed must find it. He says, "on the other side, it's not like the people are different. I mean, the way the world works is different, but the people there, they're the same as the people here. Literally the same. They might have . . . different names or jobs or just different circumstances, but they are the same exact people. They look the same, and their soulmates are often the same there too."

Roy's heart sinks. Is he really alone in every world?

"Like Gracia," Ed says, "and Hughes. They were still soulmates. Hughes was kind of an idiot about things there, I think maybe because he didn't have you, so he and Gracia weren't together yet, but they were still soulmates."

Roy tries to imagine a world where Maes and he were never friends, and he can't. What's more, he can't imagine a world where not being friends with Roy made Maes a worse person instead of a better one.

Ed doesn't seem to notice Roy's confusion. He's staring a bit dazedly at Roy's chest, and his fingers are reaching up to pluck at the military jacket. His mind is elsewhere.

"So you met me?" Roy guesses. "The other me, I mean."

Ed nods. He's still picking absently at the stripes and medals on Roy's jacket. 

"And," Roy ventures further, "I—he told you he didn't have a soulmate?"

Ed swallows. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and Roy has to reach out and still Ed's fingers just to get his attention.

"Ed?"

Ed shakes his head. "No, that's not what happened."

"I—" Roy starts, but Ed breaks his hand free from Roy's grasp and places his fingers over Roy's mouth, effectively shushing him.

Once Ed is satisfied that Roy isn't going to start talking again, Ed lightly traces his fingers across the outline of Roy's lips. His eyes are focused on where his fingers are teasing Roy, and it's a bit maddening and upsetting all at once. Ed lifts his gaze into Roy's for a moment, and then they slide over, for the first time that Roy can think of, to the patch covering Roy's right eye. Before Roy can stop him, Ed is reaching up and brushing his fingers across that as well.

"You never told me how you got this," he whispers.

Roy reaches up and pulls Ed's hand away. "Maybe another time."

Ed huffs but lets it go. His eyes search for something else to focus on and touch, but he doesn't settle on anything, and he continues his story.

"When I met him, I was a little bit drunk and feeling a lot sorry for myself. I looked at his face," Ed's eyes flick to Roy's patch again, "looked him in his two dumb eyes and said, _you have the face of a bastard_."

Ed tips forward and rests his forehead on Roy's shoulder. He's shaking with laughter. Roy doesn't know what to say.

When Ed pulls back again, there are tears wetting the corners of his eyes, but he's still smiling, even if it's a little weaker than his normal, blinding grin.

"What did he say?"

Ed's smile falters then, but he doesn't cry. He says, "He said _oh_ and _it's you_."

It takes longer than it should for understanding to settle in, and once it does, Roy is frozen, and he feels like he can't breathe.

"I slept with him," Ed continues mercilessly. "I was drunk, and I missed you, and I didn't even fucking care if I hurt him. Because he had your fucking face, and he looked at me like—like—" Ed swallows, and then he says, "I told him first. I told him straight away that he's not my soulmate, but I told him I wanted him, so he took me home."

It feels like the world is shaking and coming apart, but when Ed reaches out and brushes his hand against Roy's cheek, thumb brushing against Roy's patch, Roy realizes that he is the one that's shaking. He thinks he should be crying, but his cheeks are dry. His heart feels like it's being ripped right down the middle, but Ed's touches make him feel like maybe Ed could put it all back together again.

"I pretended for a while. I think he thought my soulmate was dead, and I never corrected him. He was happy as long as I was happy with him. It was . . . almost enough."

"Then why did you leave?" Roy knows he sounds like he's falling apart, but thankfully Ed doesn't mention it.

"Al and I started tracking these men. I overheard them talking about Shamballa, which was what that woman called our world when she was hunting for it."

"The woman who came through the gate?"

Ed nodded. "I knew whatever they were planning wasn't good, and I knew it was potentially a plan to come here and wreak more havoc. Al and I never considered that there might be more than one way through the gate, and we almost didn't catch these men in time. It was hard, too, because I never told him—the other Roy—about where I came from. People never believed me anyway, so he had no idea what I was worried about. I came back after a fight once. I was bloody all over. Of course he freaked out."

Roy winces at the thought.

"That's when I realized I couldn't keep pretending. He and I fought because he didn't really know me or what I was doing and because I knew I couldn't sit around and pretend to have the life I always wanted when there was someone threatening my home. So I made up my mind to leave. I left him a letter explaining . . . everything. I don't know if he believed it. I didn't stick around to find out. I gave him instructions on how to destroy the gate even. I contacted Hughes too, though, because I knew I couldn't rely on the other Roy when he didn't really know anything. Hughes said he would close it, and that he would check up on the other Roy."

"Did Alphonse have any objections to this?" Roy is surprised by his own question, but he knows it's the right one. He can't imagine Alphonse not attempting to offer to go through the gate alone so that Ed could stay and be happy with _him_.

"To the plan?"

Roy nods.

To his surprise, Ed says, "No, he didn't. He was happy about it."

"But—"

"You think," Ed says, cutting Roy off, "that Al would have sacrificed himself so I could stay with my soulmate."

Ed sounds a little unhappy as he says it, though Roy can't figure out why. He knows, of course, that Ed would always sacrifice his own happiness for Al, but he can't imagine Al not attempting to make Ed happy first. And he doesn't know why Ed would be upset by that.

"You're forgetting," Ed says, a little angry and burning around the edges, "that the man on the other side is not my soulmate; you are."

"But I—"

"But you don't have my words; he does? Is that what you were going to say?" Ed's gold eyes are fierce, and Roy swallows what he was going to say. Ed is right, after all. Terrifying, but right.

Ed laughs bitterly and shakes his head. "I would have traded the entire time I had with him for the one night I've had with you," Ed says. He doesn't back down at all, and his gaze holds Roy's captive. "If there is anything I've learned from the other side, it's that equivalent exchange isn't real. It doesn't exist. There is nothing he could have given me that would have made me stay once I found a way to get back to you."

"Even if I never wanted you?" Roy asks. "Because there's no way you could have known that I would."

"Even then," Ed swears. Roy doesn't want to believe it, that Ed would allow Roy to hurt him that much, but there is no wavering in Ed's expression.

Roy's heart thumps once, so hard that he thinks Ed must feel it too. His mind is wiped clean, and he could swear there's a ringing in his ears. One second, he is staring into Ed's burning eyes, and the next all he can see is darkness, and the only thing that's grounding him is the feel of Ed's lips pushing against his own.

Ed is coming alive in Roy's arms. His lips move counterpoint to Roy's, and his hips shift so that he can get a better seat in Roy's lap. Arms circle Roy's neck and fingers brush through his hair. The memory of the feeling layers underneath the sensation now, and Roy moans helplessly.

Shifting, Roy lays down onto the mattress, and Ed follows him down. Roy has to remind himself to breathe through his nose because Ed won't give him a second to catch his breath otherwise. Their lips are sealed together; Ed swipes a tongue against Roy's mouth, and Roy parts for it.

Ed's hips grind down against Roy's. He pushes back with a groan, and immediately he feels like a younger soldier who's too eager to even get properly undressed before he comes. Roy drops his hands and yanks Ed's shirt out of where it is tucked into his slacks. As soon as his fingers touch skin, though, he gives up on the clothing and uses his hands to pull Ed in closer. Ed doesn't seem any more interested than Roy is in stopping anyway. He shifts one leg over Roy's and uses his leverage to grind their hips together harder. With every heady brush of their groins there is a bite of pain from the zipper of Roy's uniform, but it's not enough to make them stop. For a moment, Roy thinks nothing could. They're chasing completion too quickly already.

But then Ed stops, stilling suddenly and going tense. Roy hears the noise a second after—a key in the lock, a handle turning.

"Shit," Ed says, scrambling away. It's useless. Ed looks like a wreck; his shirt is untucked and wrinkled, and the band that was securing his hair has slipped down to the ends. It barely contains anything. And that says nothing about the hardness outlined by Ed's tight pants or the redness where Roy's stubble scraped the skin of his neck and jaw.

When the door swings open, Ed is on the opposite side of the bed, frozen, and Roy is just laying where he was before, waiting for lightning to break through the window and strike him where he lays. Or for Alphonse to stab him to death; whichever comes first.

"Oh."

"Al," Ed starts. He sounds panicky. "We were just—"

"I'm sorry," Alphonse says, talking over his brother. His voice is cold. Roy covers his face with his hands. "Have I interrupted something?"

"Al!" Ed sounds strangled.

"Are you alright there, General?" Alphonse ignores Ed completely.

"Fine. Thank you, Alphonse."

"Roy!" Ed punches Roy in the leg swiftly.

"I think I should be going," Roy says from behind his hands.

"I'll give you a minute to say goodbye," Alphonse offers generously. He doesn't sound pleased though, and he shuts the door to the room rather forcefully. Roy fully expects him to be waiting outside the room with a gun.

Roy removes his hands and sits up once Alphonse is gone. He finds Ed sitting at the end of the bed still, head in his own hands. "Oh, fuck," he says.

Roy pushes himself the rest of the way up and climbs over to Ed. Pulling Ed's hands away he says, "This may very well be the last time you ever get to kiss me. I suggest you make the most of it."

Ed looks confused for a moment, hurt creeping in, but then his eyes zero in on Roy's lips, which are turned up into a smirk. "He won't kill you," Ed assures.

"You don't know that." Unable to stop himself, Roy tucks a loose strand of yellow hair behind Ed's ear. "You may yet regret coming back for me. I could be dead within the week."

Ed grabs Roy's retreating hand and pulls it in, and then, timidly, he kisses a few of Roy's fingertips. "I'll never regret it," he says. He nuzzles Roy's hand, and Roy loses himself in watching. He's never found a lover so pleasing to simply observe. He should have known that Ed would supersede every other person in every way.

A loud knocking on the door breaks the silence and—though he would never admit it—makes Roy jump a little. "Hurry up in there! I'm not giving you time to finish," Alphonse yells, his meaning clear.

Roy laughs, but Ed just groans in embarrassment and dives in to bury his face in Roy's shoulder. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"That depends," Roy says lightly. "Are you leaving for Resembool?"

Ed shakes his head. "Not tomorrow, I don't think. But—well, I'll have to go back sometime soon."

"I understand," Roy says. He kisses the top of Ed's head. "I'll wait for you, whenever you go. I always do."

**Author's Note:**

> Here's [my tumblr](http://myloveasrare.tumblr.com/) if you want to come yell at me about how awful this is.


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